


BlamCo Makes the Irradiated World Go 'Round

by sociopathic_fangirl_on_Drugs



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Flirting, Fluff, Multi, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-02-27 10:05:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18736855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sociopathic_fangirl_on_Drugs/pseuds/sociopathic_fangirl_on_Drugs
Summary: MacDeacon cuddling requested by whyme (sorry it took so long)! Thank you for giving me an idea and motivating me to actually finish a work!





	1. Is It Really Cheese If It Lasts for Over 200 Years?

**Author's Note:**

> Again, nothing is mine but Sal. Everything else belongs to Bethesda. FIGHT ME TODD HOWARD I JUST WANT BOYFRIENDS YOU WON'T LET ME HAVE!!!!!
> 
> Might be out of character since it's been forever from the the last time I actually played the game and didn't spend 8 hours building houses.

“Are you gonna live, babe?” He groans. “I sure fuckin’ hope not.” De smacks his arm from the other end of the couch. “Language.” He just lets it happen. “Do either of you need anything before I go? Cause I won't be back for a few hours and Sturges is busy over at the Museum.” Mac's stomach rumbles so loudly even Dogmeat perks up. “I'm gonna take that as an answer. I'll go make something real quick.” Bobby grumbles a ‘thank you’ with his sore throat.

From a quick look in the fridge, the only options are canned or boxed. So now it's mac and cheese, Spam or Salisbury steaks. Mac and cheese it is. We even have a bit of brahmin milk and some cheese left so I don't have to use just the processed shit in the package that lasts way too long to be anywhere near healthy. Cool.

“You both well enough to handle some mac and cheese?” Deac perks up instantly, coughing as he enthusiastically yells ‘Yes!’ way too loud and Bobby just shrugs. “I'll make the whole box then.” A pan goes onto the stove with the right amount of cold water and the burner underneath clicks as I turn the corresponding dial, catching fire as it turns further. I watch the two on the couch as I wait for the water to heat. The blanket has clearly been put through a slow game of tug of war, stretched until it’s slightly misshapen between the both of them. It’s reached a settling point in Bobby’s lap and draped over De’s legs. They looked flushed, Bobby more so since De’s the one who got him sick. I might need to stop by the Super Duper Mart near Lexington to look for more cold medicine; if any of it’s even still safe to use. I turn back to check the stove and end up adding the ‘pasta’. I stir it as it cooks, checking its consistency until I’m satisfied with it. I use the spoon to drain out the water and add the ‘cheese’ pack and our own actual cheese and some milk, again stirring for what feels like eternity. I add a little bit of salt and pepper.

“Can I eat it yet?” “No.”

“How about n-” “Now? No, you can’t.” Bobby coughs out a laugh. “Just wait, Deac.” At least someone’s on my side. “It’s almost ready, I promise.” I stir the macaroni one last time and dish it into bowls for both of them. De’s head follows the movements of the bowl like a hawk. I hand them the bowls and Deac immediately takes a bite. “Jesus, slow down. You're already sick, don’t make it worse.” He listens, but only barely. “Okay. Anything else before I go?” Both of them shake their heads. “Good. Now don’t get each other any more sick or kill each other before I get back. Got it?” They both nod. “Don’t forget you both agreed to that.”


	2. At Least the Couches Don't Have Any Preservatives, Right?

"Seriously dude, slow down." I just smile around my mouthful of macaroni. "Dumbass." Twice in one day, huh? I smack his arm again. "What did I say about language?" "Shut up, Deacon." “Make me.” Mac smirks, but he follows it up with “But we’re both sick” and “You’re getting better, too so I’d just make it so totally amazing, blah blah blah.” He might not have said some of that word for word, but the point was (kind of) made so I pout. “Fine. Can we at least cuddle?” I turn to him with exaggerated puppy eyes. He huffs. “Get over here already you big, dumb, closeted hopeless romantic.” He shifts around as he talks, holding up an arm and pulling the blanket until it rotates just right to leave a nest-like spot in the couch. He laughs as he watches me shuffle while trying not to drop the precious BlamCo or the fork spinning precariously around the rim of the bowl. It’s kind of a really fucking adorable laugh that doesn’t come out of him often. “You should get sick more often. It’s cute to see you so unguarded like this.” He flushes and bats at my arm like a tired kitten. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up a minute ago?” I find the perfect bowl balance and finally nuzzle into the warm, cozy couch nest. “Probably, yeah, but I don’t think I was actually listening at that point.”

His arm drops and I can feel him rest his head on mine. He feels pretty warm. Might still have a fever. “You feelin’ okay?” He takes a deep breath and I swear I can hear his lungs weep with the effort. “Better than yesterday, for sure. It felt like a deathclaw tried to make a nest in my throat.” He sounded pretty terrible with all the coughing and wheezing; he lost his voice after a while. I heard him get up in the middle of the night a couple times to throw up thinking nobody would notice. I’m pretty sure he sometimes forgets I’m ridiculously observant. And that I’m an insomniac and a light sleeper, a truly disastrous combination. “That thing I said about being sick more, don’t. I love that you’re more uncaring and agreeable, but that’s not worth you hacking your guts out all night.” He just huffs. “I do actually, really care about you, you know?” His arm lowers from around my shoulder only to drop and curl around my waist. “Yeah I know. I love you too.” I’m not the only hopeless romantic here.

The bowls slowly but surely become empty, and Bobby is feeling nice enough to lean over and stack them on the coffee table next to the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't worked on this since May, yikes! Finally posting this so I'll hopefully get a boost of inspiration


End file.
